Dave's Diary.

{{ooc; This is Dave's (asylumstuck) diary. That is all. www.lacedwithirony.tumblr.com}}

[ironicallyhumourful-blog]

In an ironic and completely welcome twist of fate, Rose has arrived.

I can't say I'm disappointed.

Because I'm not.

I'm so indescribably fucking happy that I'm going to be crying rainbows for a fucking week.

Holy shit. 

Crying rainbows... How awesome would that be? I mean--

No, Dave. Shut your fucking dumbass face.

Until something intelligent forms.

And then shut it again, because fuck you, that's why.

[ironicallyhumourful-blog]

setting fire to our insides for fun.

warnings: contains violence and cursing, as well as sexual themes and sexual deviants, alcoholism, etc. Please be careful if you read it!

Twelve days, two hours, four minutes, and twenty seven-- twenty eight seconds since Dirk has gone missing.

Dave wasn't sure how he'd kept count for song long. Math wasn't his subject, wasn't him, he was too cool for the angles and the theories, postulates, and theorems. Was too busy focusing on a certain brother of his.

A certain brother that he refused to admit his true feelings for.

Especially now that he was gone, and that it was Dave's fault.

Since the boy had went missing, three things had happened: 

Dave started drinking. A lot. An hour after they both left the home.

He didn't expect it to happen. Didn't even know it was going to happen. Didn't think he'd be that dumb-- to get himself hooked on something like alcohol. When he should have been running after Dirk, when he should have been trying to find his brother, when he should have been trying to save him-- But he was too busy being drunk.

Dave got fired from his jobs. Day five.

He showed up drunk, too many times for them to tolerate. They didn't call the cops, instead just fired him. Let him wreck his life, because it wasn't their responsibility to watch over a 'hoodlum' like Dave. They didn't want none of that shit.

Dave started using his body to make money. Day six.

He knew it wasn't good. Knew he shouldn't have. Knew it could get him killed, could get him tons of things with horrible outcomes. But money was money. And he needed that to fund his search groups as well as having food. He would get drunk, watch himself slip away, and then sleep with whoever offered to pay him the most.

Usually it was a lot of older men or women. But he didn't care. 

Sometimes it hurt, he remembers that. But those memories were suppressed  because when he was in therapy, he refused to remember how he had broken himself.

Dave refused to admit that he was the one that was at fault, that he shouldn't have done what he did, that he knew he was better than what he chose. Refused to admit that he missed his brother so much that he didn't even care what happened to himself anymore, but pleasepleaseplease bring Dirk back.

He knew putting the blame on Dirk was horrible, because it was his own fault. Mostly. 

But he found himself half hating Dirk, and half loving him more than he ever had. 

At the time, he'd thought Dirk had only ran away. Gone to stay with some friends, or something. But no, no; he had gotten kidnapped. Dave considered himself an A+ asshole when he figured that out, because good job, you fucking waste of space, your brother was getting hurt and couldn't stop it and you were hurting yourself and wouldn't stop it.

But so was how things went, they were both hurt.

Dave remembered why he drank, though. He found himself so incredibly bitter that his brother was gone. 

He loved the burn of the alcohol as it went down his throat, and as he choked it back up half the time. He love the tingles in his brain and his whole body, and the blankness that always followed. He loved the feeling of it burning his insides, he loved how it felt.

He loved the scars he gave himself when he was drunk. Or was it the scars others gave him? He couldn't quite tell. And was there a difference really? 

No. Not to Dave. Just getting what he deserved, he remembered.

The was once where he freaked out because of this. Once, when one of his 'customers' looked exactly like Dirk. Except older. Filled out more. So not exactly but, close enough for Dave to get really fucking freaked out.

That was the first night he got hurt. He called it irony. It was on his way home after spending the night with the man that looked like Dirk.

They cut him. Set him on fire. Wished he would have caught better.

Dave, upon being taken into rehab, forced himself to believe it was all a dream. A really bad dream.

But the scars wake him up, show him who's the boss, keep him in check. 

And here he is, trying to heal his brother from a time he'll never heal from, either.

But let's not bring that up, Dave.

[ironicallyhumourful-blog]

Piecing things together with Dirk hurts.

I was such a fucking asshole. 

why didn't i try harder why didn't i stop him

why didn't i take him back and protect him

And it's so stupid.

I want to say it wasn't my fault but, to be honest, it was.

I'm not trying to be hard on myself.

I just shouldn't have yelled, shouldn't have flipped out.

Maybe I should talk to someone about this.

[ironicallyhumourful-blog]

I was only seventeen, and I hated it all.

With parents gone, lost to the tragedy of some unknown cause. They wouldn't tell Dirk. They wouldn't tell me.

They wanted to put us both into some sort of... foster program? I think that's what it was. That was four years ago.

I refused. I wasn't ready to be a dad, I wasn't ready to take care of anyone, but I'd be damned if I didn't try.

I remember the fight we have the night Dirk ran away. Why didn't I stop him. Why didn't I make him come back?

Why was I so incredibly incompetent?

I know I wasn't ready. “Why the fuck do you have to throw these fucking bastards every-fucking-where. You have a room for that shit.”

I was yelling. Why was I yelling. I had only fallen, I would've been fine. Would have. Could have. Wasn't.

“Oh like you even give a damn. This place is a fucking sty anyways.” Right in whatever motherly instinct I had. 

“Why do you even need to make these stupid fucking dolls. I know you’re a faggot but you could at least fucking pretend you have balls.” That was harsh for even me.

I don't know why I kept going.

“You’re such a dick! I fucking hate you!” He hissed at me. 

That's what scared me, I think. That's what really set me off. Hearing the one person in the world that I gave one fuck about call me out on all the bullshit I had to put him through. Hearing him say shit like that.

"The feeling's mutual, Dick." I was so fucking witty with my name puns. "It's not like I fucking asked to do this, okay? It's not my fucking fault they're gone. I shouldn't have to fucking take care of you." 

I'm hurt too.

"Well maybe I'll just leave, hm? Make it easier on you. I'm sorry to have bothered you with my existence!"

No, I didn't mean it like that.

"Good. Get the fuck out." 

There was throwing and breaking, but I couldn't remember that shit. We both left that night. I got drunk, for the first time and not the last over the next two years that he was gone.  

I couldn't deal with that shit.

He went out too, he just.

Never came back.

I continued with my shitty life - tried to, I should correct myself.

When they found him, I was in rehab. He didn't need to deal with my shit, so we spent a few days together, bitterness seeping through us and the grudge getting heavier, until he was sent away from me.

I thought it was for good.

It's my fault. I know it is.

I love you, Dirk. You're the best little bro.

But it's too late for that now.

[ironicallyhumourful-blog]

Your name is DAVE STRIDER and you have a diary.

Listen. I’m not using this thing to talk about boys, to.. I don’t know. This is just for my own mental health. Seriously guys. If you’re reading this put it down, because that is really not fucking cool at all.

I had a run-in with Dirk last night. He passed out.

I’m not sure where that’s going.

I went to a staff meeting for the first time today and I guess I was the baby of the group?

Sucks to be me, wah, boohoo It sounds particularly sad and not really true …

Fuck, Strider. Get yourself together.

Your rapping is horrible. And that’s just not how you roll.